


Elithil

by Illegible_Scribble



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday Presents, Cuddles, Fluff, Kisses, M/M, Samfro Week, Samfro Week Autumn 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 14:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: Fromel("star") andithil("moon"). The last thing Frodo expected to see in the middle of the night.





	Elithil

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Illegible_Scribble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble) in the [SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SeasonalSamfro_Autumn_2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> For Sunday, September 22nd, Frodo and Bilbo's birthday.

It had grown dark some hours ago, though the room was no less warm for it, Frodo and Sam quite warm beneath the covers and moving against one another so slow sweetly.

Their voices grew shrill in the night some moments later, ragged but pleasured and loving. Their movements slowed and soon they grew rather still, settling and murmuring soft endearments as sleep began to settle upon them.

They might have both drifted off soon after, had the clock in the hall not begun to chime, then, and echoed through the smial twelve times. Sam started a little at this, and shifted in the bed, away from Frodo's grasp.

“Where are you going?” Frodo's voice was deep with a well-earned longing for rest, and held a slight edge of contempt that Sam was leaving him, even if the spot in his wake was still warm.

“You'll see.” was Sam's only answer, as he slipped from the sheets and paused at the dresser to grab his robe, before he slipped out the bedroom door.

Frodo's brows furrowed in the dark and he lay back against the pillows. Sam's retreating figure was always a handsome sight, especially when he was naked, but even for that Frodo didn't enjoy it when he left, especially without warning and abandoning such a pleasant rest after a delightful loving.

He lay there in the quiet, wondering where Sam had gone and if perhaps he should follow. He shifted the covers and began to doze, but started when the door creaked and Sam came back. “Well?” he asked, raising his head.

Sam now took Frodo's robe from the dresser and brought it to the bed. “Follow me.” he said.

There was a lightness in his voice and a shine in his eye that soothed Frodo's puzzlement. He did as he was bid, rising from the rumpled bed and shouldering on his robe. Sam pulled him near, then, and kissed his cheek, tying the belt of the robe for Frodo, who found this a curious inversion of how their affectionate gestures usually paired with the doing, or rather more commonly, undoing, of their dress.

He was about to return Sam's kiss, but then Sam stepped away and took his hand, pulling him towards the door. “Trust me?”

Frodo did not resist. “To the end of the world.”

Sam led him out the door and down the quiet hall, which was lit only by the moonlight that filtered through the windows. “Where are we going?” Frodo's voice sounded even to him a disturbance of the quiet, but Sam didn't seem to notice.

“You'll see.” Sam said again, and behind him Frodo pursed his lips, perturbed.

He was surprised when Sam led him to the front door and they walked outside, the wind soft amid the leaves and grasses of the Hill. Sam held his hand still as they walked to the top of the smial, Frodo now at his side, though no less confused.

Little more understanding came over him as they crested the crown of the Hill, and beneath the old oak that grew strong and tall there, it appeared suddenly to Frodo as though a patch of sky had fallen to the earth. Amid the shadows cast by the branching tree danced moonbeams, and they revealed among the roots shining silver lights that nodded and waved in the breeze like little stars.

“Sam,” said Frodo, staring, both his breath and words lost, “what...”

Sam stepped forward and turned halfway, beckoning Frodo closer as he smiled, and blushed faintly in the otherworldly silver light. “Happy birthday,” he said, rubbing Frodo's hand with his thumb, “happy birthday, me dear.”

“You've brought stars to the earth for me,” Frodo raised Sam's hand and kissed the palm, “my dearest and cleverest Sam. How did you manage something not even a great Elvish hero ever could?”

“Look closer.” Frodo did, and they stood and then knelt before the little sea of stars. They were flowers, Frodo realized, a blue so pale they shone like the purest true-silver when struck by moonlight; and they _shone_, truly, like stars. “They're called Gilthoniel's Tears. They blossom for a time during the day, but mostly at night, an' when they do, an' moonlight hits them... well, I'm thinkin' that's when they live up to their name.”

Frodo touched one tentatively, almost expecting his hand to return covered in glowing stardust. It did not, though as he touched it, the light played off the facets of the petals in hundreds of new and enchanting ways each moment, and in his heart he indeed knelt before a small sea full of stars.

“But I'm supposed to give _you_ something on my birthday.”

Sam's arm came warm and snug around Frodo as he pulled him close and placed a kiss amid his ebon curls. “You give me sommat each an' every day. Stories an' wonder, an' beauty a' sorts I wouldn't never have imagined otherwise, an' a home, an' more love than any hobbit ought to have by rights. This,” he looked at the nodding stars, “a bit o' clever gardening an' patience, which ain't any large thing compared to some others.”

Frodo felt Sam's chest rise and still through the thinness of their robes. “I hope,” Sam's voice was soft and halting, “I hope t'is enough to say 'thank you', if naught more.”

Frodo extended a hand and cupped one of the blossoms. It felt like the softest of velvets, and shone with more brilliance than any jewel. “It says 'I love you' enough to fill a heart near to bursting, without uttering a single word.” He shifted, and then cupped Sam's shy and stunned face, and kissed him gently. “Thank you, Sam-love.”

“Thank you, Frodo dear.” Sam murmured in kind, between kisses. “Happy birthday.”


End file.
